


Sad

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Rick/Michonne fics [4]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Death, Child Loss, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of miscarriage, Miscarriage, Postpartum Depression, Pregnancy, Spoilers, Stillbirth, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: In the aftermath of Rick's demise, Michonne has to find some way to cope.





	Sad

**Author's Note:**

> So Rick is still alive, but Michonne doesn't know that of course. Skip the end notes if the pregnancy tag bothers you.

Rick Grimes was gone.

It had all happened so fast. They got the warning via radio communique about the incoming herds and immediately she and Maggie put aside their grief and brief animosity to spring into action. They rode first on their horses, one ear always trained on the radio over the thundering of galloping horse hooves on cracked asphalt and packed dirt roads. At the back of her mind, Michonne was distinctly aware that she had yet to hear Rick’s gruff voice issuing out any commands. She figured that was probably because he was on the front lines – his typical, reckless albeit admirable style of leadership – hacking away at the herd bit by bit with sheer determination and his trusty hatchet.

Michonne was worried about the situation, but not consumed by fear. Then she heard Daryl bark out over the radio, cutting clear over the other chattering and static. “ _Rick’s out there. He was gonna try to lead the herds away from the camp and bridge_.”

Well, she was right about him being right in the thick of things. Spurring her brown mare to go faster, Michonne took the lead of the small group they had gathered from Alexandria and soon (though not soon enough), they had met up with the others. A fair few of them were injured, but not with the typical bites she had been expecting. Some were clutching gunshot wounds or had neat slices through their clothes that bled crimson. She had pieced together some of what had happened – Savior betrayal, Oceanside killings – from the radio chatter, but civil differences could be handled later.

 _All the more reason for a charter_ , Michonne thought to herself. Aloud, she addressed the group at large from atop her panting mare. She started to count, so Michonne let her pace so that she wouldn’t be so antsy. “Where’s the herd?”

Eugene, sweaty and disheveled with his hair coming loose from his ponytail, answered with a slight tremble in his voice. “Herd Tybalt and Herd Cordelia were accidentally conjoined thanks to the siren’s call of a single gunshot from the earlier altercation at the campsite. Their numbers will be massive and our spotters – namely the eagled-eyed Tara – claims that Tydelia has meandered the road and traversed through the forest towards the Hilltop. Right now, the tail is invisible to the binocular eye, but our guestimate says its at the campsite. As for the head –”

“It should nearly be at the bridge by now,” Carol impatiently cut over him with a sigh and a nearly undetectable roll of her eyes. Her fingers fiddled with the handle of the knife.

Michonne was grateful for the interruption. “I thought construction on the bridge was put on hold? It won’t be able to handle that much weight, right?”

Aggressively, Daryl shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. “It shouldn’t. I told Rick to lead ‘em over it. They’ll get swept away in the river and flushed out like shit in the ocean,” he grunted, all swinging arms and pacing as he chomped at the proverbial bit. “But Rick said he’s not going to sacrifice what we worked on.”

“Then we head for the bridge. Rick’s right. We can’t let all the supplies and time invested in that go to waste. We need the bridge.” As much to bring them together for trade and for community. Michonne swung off her horse and took up the mantle of leadership. Rick wasn’t here, and even though all of the communities’ leaders were here (Daryl, Carol, Maggie, and Ezekiel), none of them were making decisions. Restless for the action after the tediousness of charter drafting, Michonne gladly filled the boots.

"No horses. They’ll just get in the way and we’ll risk further injuries.” She thought of the blacksmith’s son taking a ribcage shattering hoof to the sternum. “The shortest path to the bridge is a straight line. We’ll go through the trees and try to head off the herd and divert them on either side of the bridge into the river. Those too injured to make the trip should go home and be ready to send out more people to help.” With a steadying hand on the hilt of her sheathed katana, Michonne led the way at a brisk run. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Despite the breakneck pace and the shortcut through the woods, they were too late. They arrived just in time to see Rick nearly get bit on his shoulder when Daryl saved him with a miraculous shot. The herd is already crossing the bridge, and somehow, the bridge held.

"It’s gonna hold.”

 Rick turned around, unsteady on his feet as if the bridge is swaying instead of being as heart-stopping solid as it actually is. He stumbled like a drunk as he spotted them, raising his red left hand. At first, Michonne is relieved to see him, but then all she can see is the red, is the blood, and there’s too much of it ad it’s fresh and that means the worst because – “What’s he doing? He’s hurt!”

“That herd’ll go right through Hilltop,” Daryl pointed out. “He’s trying to bring down the bridge.”

Michonne realized that and then realized something else when saw how Rick was still on the bridge. “No.” They need a new plan. “We turn them around. Fight them back! Fire your guns! Try to divert them!” She took off running again for the bridge because Rick can’t die. He’s not supposed to die and not like this, God, not like this. They’re supposed to die in their sleep in their bed when they’re old and Judith is ready for the world and the world is how it should be. 

“It’s not working!”

“Keep trying!”

A few people overtook at the treeline, but Michonne had Maggie and Carol two steps behind her. Daryl didn’t follow, but Michonne didn’t care because he has never been one to have hope anymore for anything since died, but Michonne lives and breathes and eats hope these days. Hope for the future, for a better world for Judith, for her charter to work and the communities to set aside their difference, for Maggie to let go of the hate rotting in her heart, for Negan to stop and be better one day, for her and Rick to finally rest so that they can finally get what they want–

Her vision blocked by the thick tree line, Michonne felt vibrations from the explosion rock the earth beneath her feet and heard the _BOOM_ and the bridge dissolve into debris and fall with a splash into the churning, dull roaring, fast moving river below. She didn’t get to see if Rick made it until she popped out of the tree line and nearly into the hungry maws of the walkers if her arms weren’t held back by Carol and Maggie. When she didn’t immediately see him, she knew, but she didn’t believe.

“NO!”

It was all she could say when what she wanted to say was, _“Let me go. I have to find him. He’s hurt. He needs help. Please, God, no. Rick. Let him live.”_

* * *

 

They couldn’t risk her crying herself out because of the walkers, so Carol knocked her out. When Michonne woke up, she was back at home in their bed, and she thought it was a nightmare. Then she walked downstairs and saw her family gathered faces, and it all came back to her.

Her first thought was, “Where’s Judith?”

“Not here. All the children are being watched right now while we handle things.” While Michonne was out, Maggie evidently took up the leadership position since it was vacant. Her face had that hollowness of emotion that Michonne had always hated. She wondered what all there was to handle.

“Did anyone find Rick?” Michonne asked the room at large, and there was an outward ripple effect where they all cringed inwards, faces pinched uncomfortably to hold back more sobs and tears.

“No,” Daryl grunted and worked his jaw from side to side.

“Then I’m going out there.” Michonne already had her katana slung across her back, and she made her way to the door. “We should have search parties. He’s hurt. He needs help.”

Someone grabbed her arm, and her katana immediately leveled itself with the perpetrator’s throat. Of course, it was Daryl. “If you go out there, ya ain’t gonna like what ya find.” His grip did not loosen even though Michonne’s wild eyes warned of consequences otherwise. “Because there ain’t nothin’ left ta find.”

“Shut up!” Michonne managed to pull herself free, and Daryl managed to avoid getting his neck slit open by her katana. “I’m going out there.”

* * *

 

~ _One Month After_ ~

* * *

 

And everyday that was what Michonne did. She scouted the area surrounding the bridge, ignoring the others as they scuttled to salvage supplies from the bridge’s remains or their half-assed attempts at rebuilding. There were pieces of walkers everywhere, and those walkers that weren’t dead soon met their end at her blade.

Even when night fell, Michonne found herself out there, searching for a glimmer of Rick’s silver watch in the pale moonlight, but there was nothing. No flash of blue eyes. No raised red hand. Not a groan of the living; there was only the dead.

For a while, Alexandria’s leader was Maggie as she divided her time between there and the Hilltop, getting things in order before she could leave. The mysterious Georgie’s last letter was apparently an invitation to her community, and Maggie was going to accept. 

“There’s nothing left here for me anymore that I can’t take with me,” she explained as she hitched Hershel up higher on her hip. He burbled and chewed on the split ends of her hair, but she didn’t care. “I’m leaving Jesus in charge of the Hilltop. And I’m not staying in Alexandria. It ain’t right that Negan’s there when Rick ain’t.”

And that was the last Michonne heard from here.

Once Maggie was gone, Michonne was unwittingly forced back into leadership and subsequently forced to take care of herself again. It was Judith who brought her back. Judith had already lost one parent, and Michonne would not let her lose another. But no one told Judith that Rick was dead, because how could you tell any child that? 

* * *

 

 ~ _Two Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

The day Michonne came back to herself was the day that she was tracking down the river. This was familiar territory for her, something that even Daryl and a few Oceansiders helped her out with the first few times. They had been up and down this river over a thousand times looking for signs and clues to Rick’s whereabouts. Michonne was at the breaking point now where she would accept even his walker corpse so long as she knew, so long as she had that finality.

A corpse she could bury alongside her child, right next to Carl. But she didn’t even have that. They had one for Sasha, Glenn, Abraham, so many others since then – but not for Rick, though there was talk of a monument. Without Jadis and her talent, and with Eugene’s lack of artisanal skills, that was all there was about that, though: talk. Michonne paid it no mind when she had more pressing matters to attend to.

There was a deafening crack of a twig underfoot, and Michonne switched from her katana to her hunting rifle. She flicked the safety off as her eyes swept around her, looking for whatever it was. Hopefully, it was a deer. That would be dinner for the night since the tomato crops were an abysmal failure.

Through the green copse of trees, Michonne wondered if it was a trick of the light that made her see a flash of blonde. The curls were familiar, and then Michonne was left to wonder if after all this time, she was starting to lose it out here all by herself. In all her time here, though, she never once hallucinated that she saw Rick.

There was a crash of a body moving quickly and clumsily through the undergrowth; probably a walker then. Michonne pointed the muzzle of her rifle in that direction, taking aim, and took a deep breath to steady herself.

Out from under the leaves, the first thing to appear was a small, pale hand streaked with dirt. With a pained gasp, Michonne dropped the nose of her rifle to the ground as Judith’s face surfaced from all the greenery like a little forest nymph, a crown of twigs caught in the tangle of her hair. “Momma! I caught up to you!” She ran into Michonne, crashing the full weight of her petite body into her mother’s legs and smothered her face against Michonne’s stomach so hard that Michonne felt some of the wind get knocked out of her lungs in a small grunt of pain. Judith was very real.

Dropping to her knees as she pulled herself from her shock, Michonne felt her hands automatically search Judith for bites. Not even a scratch on her. Absolutely no blood. A miracle. “Judith,” even to her own ears, Michonne could tell that her voice sounded robotic, “Judith, what are you doing out here?”

Pulling out of the hug, Judith shoved her hair back behind her ears. Her big eyes were so earnest as she said, “I wanna help you look for Daddy. I want him to come home.”

Feeling the familiar tears building behind her eyes, Michonne directed her gaze to Judith’s hair instead as she plucked out the stray leaves. Her fingers tackled the twigs, locked into place in Judith’s knotty hair, to untangle. “Judith, it’s dangerous out here. You shouldn’t be here, where you could get hurt. You should be home.”

Judith’s brow wrinkled as she pouted. “You should be home, too! If it’s dangerous, Daddy should be home! You’ve been looking for him for forever. I’m here, so maybe I can help you and we can find him together! It’s like how we play hide and seek or look for my boots when they go missing.”

Michonne’s heart clenched because Judith sounded so much like Carl and then so much younger than that, too. Her lower lip wobbled, and she slowly, reverently cupped her palm over Judith’s cheek, still childishly plump with some of the last clinging vestiges of baby fat. It was a familiar gesture, a muscle memory really from her time with Rick. She would scrub her palm over his beard all the time to get his attention. The closeness was their way of saying _I love you_ when they were saying a million other things instead.

Instinctively, Michonne glanced around her for any threat to her daughter. She didn’t want to be out here anymore. Not with her. It was time to give up.

“Come on, Judith.” Michonne pushed herself to her feet and took Judith by the hand. “Let’s go home. It’s time you learned the truth about things.”

It took a lot of explaining for Judith to realize that Rick wasn’t coming back. Michonne supposed that she was just as stubborn about that realization as well. Really, she had no idea what to tell her daughter, but she had to tell her something. In this world, intimacy with death was a necessity. So Michonne settled on telling Judith that Rick was in Heaven now with Carl, and Judith didn’t cry. She only nodded her understanding. However, Michonne did cry when Judith’s next finger-painting was of her brother and her father with halos and white angel wings. Gabriel must’ve told her about that at one of his vacation bible school sessions. Or so Michonne had thought.

* * *

 

 ~ _Three Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

Now that Rick was gone, Michonne inherited all responsibilities. Unfortunately, that included Negan. Before when Rick was dividing his time between Alexandria and the bridge, Negan was cared for mostly by Nora and Scott as Michonne found herself consumed by her charter. Since Rick’s demise, her charter had since been abandoned as well.

Since Rick wasn’t coming back, though, Michonne distracted herself with other things. Her charter was neglected in favor of her completely taking over caring for Negan. It wasn’t that difficult to do now, thankfully. Before she left, Maggie had broken him. He never said a word to her nowadays.

Negan was one of Rick’s hope for the future, and from that Negan had developed into a pitiful sort of testament to Michonne’s grief for both Carl…and now Rick. Feeding him three times a day and bathing him once a week remined Michonne to take care of herself, too. Michonne cooked for the three of them (herself, Judith, and Negan), but she ate without zest or relish. She couldn’t even taste the food as anything more than ashes in her mouth, and mechanically chewed and swallowed it down anyway.

Sleeping was a chore and never restful. Most nights, though, she was too exhausted to leave her bed or even cry, so she stared into the dark and tried to remember how if felt when Rick shared their bed. He used to be a warm and heavy weight beside her, as comforting as any security blanket even though he hogged most of the covers. Some nights Judith forgot herself and still called out for her daddy. Michonne caught herself doing the same after her own nightmares.

So, she functioned, just barely enough to sustain herself, but deprived herself of all pleasure enough so that she felt nothing. Feeling anything was exhausting, and most of the time she just put on a show for Judith anyway, going through all the motions of the day. It was Negan who forced her perspective that she needed to act otherwise.

For the most part, her routine for feeding him was like clockwork. She got up before dawn to make his sandwich. She took it down to him on a tray. She dropped the tray with a loud clatter on the floor to wake him up. Then she would leave. After the first couple of times she did that, he stopped startling at the sound. One day, right before Michonne was about to drop the tray, Negan’s rough voice cut through the dark and stopped her cold.

“Where’s Rick?”

Slowly, like a walker that senses prey and stirs into action, Negan lifted himself from his cot, the threadbare blankets slipping off his bony shoulders like cobwebs. “It’s not that I hate you or anything. I just miss Rick and our little talks.” Slinking through the dark, Negan stopped right in front of Michonne, the bars separating them and his bearded face swathed in shadows. “I figured he’d come and tell me about his little London bridge when he’d finish it. Can’t imagine it would take this long.” His head tilted to the side curiously. “Did I piss him off? Or is he mad at me for letting the Wi– Maggie…almost kill me?”

 _The Widow._ He was going to say the Widow. Maggie wasn’t the only widow anymore. Maggie was even here either. Was Michonne the Widow now? Is that what people called her, whispered behind her back?

Remaining silent, she uncurled her fingers from around the edge of the tray and let it drop to the dirty floor with a familiar clatter. Negan’s sandwich came undone. The top slice of bread slid out of reach across the floor. She didn’t feel sorry, and left.

When she came back later to drop off his sandwich for lunch, she noticed that he had eaten the rest of the sandwich and he was waiting for her in the same spot. “Michonne.”

She flinched. He never used her name.

“Michonne, where’s Rick?” He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Negan was incapable of being still unless he was in his bed asleep. It reminded Michonne of the restless nature of a caged panther, and normally an old sight like that would tear at her heart, but now she had no sympathy. She had seen what the panther could do with his terrible teeth and claws if given the chance.

“Where’s Rick?” Negan repeated, and he actually sounded scared, sad, and sorry. “If he’s pissed at me for talking to Judith, tell him I’m sorry. I’m just lonely. I just want somebody to talk to again. And I know you’re not one for talking now, cranky as you are with your bun in the oven–”

“What?” Michonne’s voice whipped through the air and Negan cringed away, even though he was out of reach and safe behind the bars.

“W-what do you mean what?” Negan croaked.

“Bun in the oven,” Michonne quoted and again she dropped the tray to the floor. Her hands now free, they covered her stomach. “I’m not, I’m not.”

“It’s not like you’re fat or anything.” Negan raised his hands, palms upward and outward in a placating gesture. “You’re just really fucking cranky, and I dunno – I just fucking assumed. Me and Lucille, I got to see her in her first trimester pretty often over the years. I know what it looks like.”

It was too much and Michonne went to sit down on the metal chair, dusty from disuse. On her hands, she counted backwards, trying to remember the last time– Rick was still alive the last time, temporarily at home from construction on that damn bridge. They had talked about building for the future another way, and then did more than talk about it. They planned for it. It was very, very possible. After so long of not feeling a damn thing, Michonne didn’t know how to feel now.

“Does Rick not know?” Negan hesitantly asked. Michonne watched as he lowered himself with popping joints to pick up his sandwich. “I know it’s Rick’s. You’re not like me, not a cheater.” He took a bite and covered his mouth as he somehow managed to talk around masticating the food. “If you’re worried about how he’ll take it, he’ll be fucking thrilled. A man like that, he’s a good dad. You’re gonna be a good mom, too. Already are.”

“Rick is dead.”

Michonne hated herself for saying that. She never had to say the words aloud before, though she heard them flung at her often before.

Negan had swallowed his bite, but he had dropped his sandwich to the dirty floor. “No. Quit fucking with me. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. He can’t die.”

“It’s been seventy-four days. He was leading a herd away. He was hurt. He blew up the bridge to take them out. We couldn’t find anything left of him in the blast. He’s just gone.”

She heard more than she saw Negan start to cry, sniffling miserably to himself. “Wow. Uh, God. I’m sorry. I…I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.” He scrubbed his hands across his face, and Michonne could hear the _scritch scritch_ of his blunt fingernails through his bushy beard. Then he stepped forward into the light, tears brimming in his big, dark, and soulful eyes. He wrapped his hands around the bars, his grip white-knuckled. “At least you have something to remember him by.”

“I have Judith. But I don’t think I’m pregnant.” Her hands still covered belly, though, cradling protectively.

“ _Don’t think_?” Negan parroted, and some of his old bravado started filtering back through his voice. Michonne was on her toes, ready to leave as soon as he said something that crossed the line, but that never came. “You better be sure about this, Michonne. Because it’s like what you once told me. You live for the living. And it’s not just about you anymore.”

After Michonne had left, she immediately went to Siddiq to check if it was true. And it was; she was pregnant.

* * *

 

 ~ _Four Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

Maybe it wasn’t a surprise that Michonne found herself closer to Carol than ever before, despite the incredible distance between Alexandria and the Kingdom. When people learned about her pregnancy, it was like the healing process after Rick’s death could finally begin. Even Daryl who had exiled himself into the woods as a self-imposed watcher came back to stay in Alexandria again. Instead of watching the edges of their territory for walker herds or various other threats, though, Daryl became Michonne’s watcher, ever present and ready to step in whenever an argument got too loud.

But it was Carol who really mended the rift between her and Michonne. She came by at least once a week to drop off supplies and trade crops from the Hilltop. Then she would swing by the house to visit with Judith, and somehow, they always wound up at the kitchen table where Michonne had taken up her charter writing again. Over cups of tea, Michonne would show Carol her progress and Carol was her sounding board. And Carol also started to open up to Michonne.

"Y’know I was a mother once before this,” Carol said absently, not looking at Michonne but instead at Judith who was finger-painting a red cat. Well, it might’ve been a dog. Michonne had just read her _Clifford_ the night before.

The teacup in Michonne’s hand wavered before she set it back down on the table. “I figured you were. You’re really good with Henry, and I remember back at the prison how you taught the kids. I thought you might’ve been a teacher before, or worked at a daycare at a church.”

Carol smiled like she had a secret. “Nope.” She turned her bright, omniscient eyes to Michonne. “Homemaker. Ed never let me have a job after I married him. My job was to take care of him, make dinner, do laundry, go shopping for the groceries, pick up his beer…and eventually, take care of Sophia.”

“What happened to Ed?”

“Oh,” Carol tipped her head back, her eyes rolling around in a thoughtful way as she searched her memory. “He died. Walkers ate him at the camp back in Atlanta not long after the beginning.” She sighed and laced her hands together on top of her knee, one foot twirling in the air as she sat so prim and proper with her legs crossed. “I wish I could’ve killed him, though, for what he did to my daughter – and what he did to me, but more for Sophia.”

Michonne didn’t have to ask what he did, but she did have to ask – “What happened to Sophia?”

The fine wrinkles around Carol’s mouth pinched and deepened. “Same thing that happens to every child in this world who doesn’t know how to survive.” With an inelegant shrug, Carol stated, “She got bit.” Her voice didn’t waver, but a few tears swam in her eyes before she blinked them away, delicately swiping her fingers at the corners of her eyes. “Henry reminds me so much of Sophia. The same freckles…but they’re nothing alike. I know Henry knows how survive.” Carol’s gaze was drawn back to Judith. “And Judith will know, too, just like your baby.”

At the reminder, Michonne’s hands twitched towards her stomach, but she kept her hands on the tabletop instead. “I forget that I’m pregnant sometimes. Does that make me a bad mother?”

“No,” Carol answered and then posed a question right back, “Did you mean to get pregnant? I know after Hershel was born a lot of women started catching baby fever. With doctors like Siddiq it feels safe to do that now. To think about the future.”

“That’s what we were doing.” Michonne smiled, but it was broken. “We were thinking about the future. Well, I was thinking, but…but he really wanted to have a family with me, especially while Judith, Hershel, and Gracie were so young. I think he was thinking of how he wanted Judith to have a sibling, other people to grow up with.”

Carol nodded understandingly. “It can be so easy to be lonely in this world.” Both women were thinking of their own experiences about that, but simultaneously both of their gazes traveled towards the window where they could see Daryl sitting out in the street working on his motorcycle.

Clearing her throat, Carol looked away, running her fingers through her short, silver hair. “I’m thinking of letting it grow. Should I?”

Crossing her leg, Michonne playfully poised the question, “Well, what would your king think?”

“Oh,” Carol rolled her eyes and waved away Michonne’s words. “He thinks the sun shines out of my ass. I could shave it into a mohawk and he’d probably compare my beauty to a cabbage or something.”

“A cabbage?” Michonne laughed, not realizing it was the first time she had done that in months.

“Hey, he’s done it before. He compared my blush once to a radish.”

“You? Blushing? I’ll believe it when I see it.” Michonne laughed again, and then her distracted mind slid into another direction. “Carol, have you ever thought about…?” She gestured towards her stomach.

“A baby? With the king?” Carol guessed, though it was obvious she knew what Michonne was getting at. It was almost like she had anticipated the question. “Ezekiel was one of the first to catch that baby fever after he saw Hershel for the first time.” Her tone was one of put-upon exasperation, but also clearly fondness as well. “He never outright asked, but he hinted. A lot.”

“Let me guess,” Michonne interrupted with a sly smile, “he talked about what it would be like for a little prince or princess to inherit his Kingdom?”

“Basically.” Carol shrug conveyed, _What can you say?_

Michonne’s smile was hidden behind her teacup as she took a long sip. “And what did Queen Carol have to say about that?”

“Don’t call me that,” Carol said lightly, reaching across the table to swat at Michonne’s arm. “But as you can see, I’m not pregnant, and I have no plans to be anytime soon.” Her hand lingered on Michonne’s arm for a brief pat of affection. “I’ll leave all that attention to you.”

There was a sharp whistle from outside that caught both of their attentions. When they looked out the window, they saw Daryl was waving and gesturing towards the gate. “Alright, Judith, it’s time for Aunt Carol to go,” Michonne said loud enough to drag Judith out of her artist concentration. “Say goodbye and then it’s time for your nap.”

With mottled red and blue hands, Judith walked up to Carol’s side and held her arms out expectantly for a hug. “Bye Aunt Carol,” she dutifully recited, and when she smiled it showed off the gap in her teeth from where she lost her first baby tooth. Rick should’ve been here for that milestone.

Not caring about getting paint on her clothes, Carol stood up from her chair and scooped Judith into her arms for that hug. “Bye sweetie. Be sure to take care of your mom for me while I’m gone. I’ll be back next week, okay?” Still holding Judith in her arms, Carol walked to the door with Michonne close behind.

“Will you bring some seeds next time you come?” Judith asked, her arms looped tight around Carol’s neck, but unresisting when she was passed to Michonne’s arms instead.

"Seeds? What kind?”

“The wet ones that you eat.”

“She means pomegranate seeds,” Michonne realized. She’d been having a craving for that fruit and had asked Carol to bring it the last time she was here. Even though they were incredibly messy to eat, Judith loved them, leaving sticky kisses on Michonne’s shoulders afterwards, just to hear her mom squeal and twist away.

“Of course, I’ll bring you a pomegranate.” Carol stroked her fingers through Judith’s curls and shared her smile with the both of them. “Any other cravings?”

“Not unless Ezekiel has any Reese Cup flowers in bloom.”

Carol started down the front steps of the house, still looking over her shoulder at Michonne. “Nope. Ezekiel is allergic to peanuts.” With one last wave, Carol started down the street, Daryl choosing to walk her out. “See you in a week.”

* * *

 

 ~ _Five Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

“Do you see the farmers, Judith?” Michonne gently tapped her finger on the glossy open page. “Do you remember their names?” She prompted.

“Boggis, Bunce, and Bean!” Judith giggled at their funny names and traced her own smaller, clumsier fingers over their wrinkled, red faces. The tips of her fingers were stained yellow and brown from her finger painting earlier, and Michonne felt a blossoming pride as she cupped her larger hands over Judith’s smaller ones, the contrast of colors stark against the white background of paper. Her daughter was definitely a burgeoning little artist.

Suddenly Judith yawned, her mouth stretched open wide, and she let herself fall back against Michonne’s protruding bump. She wasn’t that heavy, but Michonne still grunted at the contact. Figuring it was about time for Judith’s nap, Michonne cleared her throat and started wrapping up the story, reading the final line, “ _And so far as I know, they are still waiting_.”

Gently, she closed the book with a soft thump. “The end.” Peeking over the top of Judith’s head, Michonne asked, “Nap time, Judith?”

Rubbing her tired eyes with the backs of her hands, Judith mumbled, “But I’m not tired.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Setting the book aside, Michonne wrapped her arms around Judith and stood up, keeping her positioned on her hip. Judith carelessly swung her feet, her heels lightly thumping into Michonne’s belly. Soon either Michonne would be too pregnant to pick her up or Judith would be too big and independent to be picked up. Holding Judith tighter to her, Michonne wanted to let moments like these last, but at the same time, moments like these hurt her heart the most.

Judith’s head sagged against Michonne’s shoulder, her eyes heavy with sleep, and she didn’t protest as Michonne took her inside. They made a quick pit stop at the kitchen sink where Judith’s hands were thoroughly washed until the yellow paint flaked off and all the brown paint was peeled away. Even that little exercise didn’t rouse Judith to full wakefulness, and she was carried the rest of the way upstairs before she was tucked into her bed with a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Her bedroom door was left cracked open, and Michonne made her way downstairs to clean up. Judith’s latest finger painting was on the kitchen table, and Michonne’s charter papers were meticulously stacked up on the bookshelf, out of reach from sticky fingers. Michonne paused to look over what Judith made, and her lower lip trembled though she did smile. It was another family portrait: Rick in wings, Michonne, Carl in wings, Judith, and the mysterious baby, who Judith was convinced was a boy. She painted the baby with blonde hair like her.

The painting was carefully transferred to the porch where it could dry faster in the sun, and then after Michonne picked up Judith’s toys, she found herself wandering into the kitchen, hungry. Rummaging through the cabinets, Michonne’s attention was caught by the few boxes they had left. With a shrug, she made instant mashed potatoes and lime Jell-O – an odd combination she had never thought of before, but with her cravings, it would have to do.

Unfortunately, the mashed potatoes were disgusting, and the lime Jell-O was expired. With a small sigh, Michonne was about to scrape them into the garbage when she instinctively looked up at the clock. At the last minute, she switched over and dumped the potatoes and Jell-O on Negan’s tray. It was his lunch time, and after a strict diet of sandwiches, he might be grateful for the variety.

“Nothing wasted,” Michonne murmured to herself and set out towards his cell.

When she entered, he was leaning against the wall by the window, his face deliberately kept out of the light. Half of her suspected that might be for dramatic effect while the other half of her was sure that he didn’t want to be caught window-gazing wistfully.

“Lunch time already?” Negan rhetorically asked, and once he looked down at the tray in her hands, his eyes comically widened. “Shit! It’s finally something other than a fucking sandwich.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Michonne passed him the tray and he quickly retreated to his bed as if afraid she would take it away. “And don’t expect it to taste good. Those potatoes are disgusting.”

Using his fingers since he was denied any silverware, Negan scooped a dollop of lumpy mashed potatoes into his mouth. A clump of it caught in his beard on the way. “They taste pretty good to me. It’s probably just your pregnancy hormones fucking you up.”

Sitting in the metal chair, Michonne scoffed. “That or I just have better taste than instant mashed potatoes from a box. I imagine anything can taste good, though, when all you’ve had for these two years is sandwiches.”

“Probably,” Negan agreed and then concentrated on savoring his food over conversation. Once all the mashed potatoes were gone, he hesitated before starting on the Jell-O. “You look good, y’know. That baby has you glowing in the dark down here like a nightlight.”

Michonne didn’t even bother to comment, figuring that that would only encourage him. She just snorted again and rolled her eyes at him.

Negan took a bite of Jell-O. “Ugh. I’d kill if this was cherry-flavored instead.” Still, he kept eating.

“Killing is what got you down here, Negan,” Michonne reprimanded, “and before you say anything, just know that yeah, I’m a killer–”

“But you didn’t kill people who deserved it, huh? Is that what you were going to say?”

“No.”

“Then what were you going to say?”

She hesitated. Michonne didn’t know what exactly she was going to say. Her hands balled into fists where they were resting on her lap.

“That’s what I thought.” Negan went back to eating his Jell-O.

In the silence, Michonne’s eyes drifted over Negan’s shoulder where one of Judith’s finger-paintings was taped up. It jogged her memory of the last conversation she had with Negan not that long ago.

* * *

 

" _I want you to stop talking to Judith.”_

_"Well, I’m not going to do that. You should tell her to stop visiting me instead. Makes it much easier for me to keep my fucking word – and you know I’m not a fucking liar, sweetheart.”_

_Michonne struck the bars with the tray and the metallic ring echoed in the claustrophobically small cell. Negan actually covered his ears. “Why did you tell her what angels looked like?”_

_“Shit. Is that what this is about?” Negan pulled his hands away. “When she came to visit me, I called her an angel – and she was quick to fucking correct me that she wasn’t an angel. Then I had to, y’know, explain to her what angels were like. Why? What do you think I told her that for?”_

_“I don’t really care why you told her about that,” Michonne hissed. Her spine was ramrod straight and her nails dug into her palms. “I don’t want you filling my daughter’s head with your bullshit.”_

_Cocking his head, Negan’s face bloomed when the penny dropped with him. “Oh, you think I’m going to trick her into letting me out? Or you think I’m gonna tell her stories about her daddy Rick that you’d never tell her.”_

_Quick as a dart, Michonne’s hands shot through the bars and grabbed Negan by the beard. Instantly, he froze, and Michonne resisted the urge to rearrange her grip so that she could grab him by the throat instead. She knew how defensive he was about anybody touching it; he even kicked up a fuss whenever Siddiq would check on it. It was one reason that he had taken to growing out his beard. Still, Michonne yanked on the beard, and Negan swayed forward into the light like she wanted._

_"You don’t get to tell her anything about Rick. You may have some obsession with him, but you never knew him like I did. And he didn’t love you.”_

_When she let go of his beard, Negan beat a hasty retreat to his bed. “You’re right. Rick didn’t love me. But I…I liked Rick. I would never say a bad thing about him to Judith.” Looking up at her with an open and honest expression that looked so out of place on him, Negan solemnly promised, “I swear, I will never say shit like that to Judith._

* * *

 Once Negan was finished with his Jell-O, he didn’t immediately pass over the tray. Instead, he leaned backwards on his heels and took a long, hard look at her.

"What?” Michonne sharply asked in a defensive manner, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Nothing. It’s just…well, you look ready to pop. Like you swallowed a pumpkin seed.” Negan was smiling, and Michonne thought that that was dangerous.

“This baby isn’t coming for a while yet, Negan. You’re still going to be dealing with me.” She stood and held her hand out expectantly for his lunch tray, nonverbally signaling that this conversation was over.

The tray was passed over, but of course Negan had to have the last word. “If you ever, uh, get horny or anything. I can help you with that. Consider it a conjugal visit.” Ignoring Michonne’s dropped jaw, Negan winked. “I’m sure the warden won’t mind.”

Fuming, Michonne left in a huff, and Negan’s diet strictly adhered to sandwiches from then on.

* * *

 

 ~ _Six Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

Once again, Michonne found herself at her kitchen table surrounded by papers with Carol lending an ear by her side. Judith had already been put down for her nap today after running herself ragged playing pretend with both Ezekiel and Henry. They were both out with Daryl right now, doing a little hunting in the Alexandrian area. Most likely they would all stay the night at Michonne’s house and have dinner together. She definitely had the room, and it was around autumn. Maybe it would have been Thanksgiving time anyway.

“I think you’re doing a great job, Michonne,” Carol said with a comforting hand laid across Michonne’s forearm, forcing her to pause in her writing. “And I mean that, too.”

“Thanks,” Michonne said awkwardly and then needlessly shuffled her papers. “I thought I might be rusty, but I used to do legal work from before. But even then, I…I took a break from that when I had Andre.”

It was the first time she had mentioned him to Carol. After what happened, Michonne had only worked up the nerve to tell four people about him. Andrea, Carl, Rick, and Negan. In a cruel twist of fate, only one of those people was still alive, and she didn’t intend to talk to him about Andre again ever.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened.”

Even though Carol said that, Michonne said it anyway. She needed to say it, needed to have someone else besides Negan to know. “He was just a baby. Younger than Judith is now. My boyfriend Mike was supposed to be watching him, but him and his friend Terry got high instead.” Shaking her head from side to side, Michonne felt her locks run across the tops of the shoulders and skim down her shoulder blades. “It was terrible. And after I realized what happened, I killed Mike and Terry. I carried them around with me for a while. They were my burden, my reminder to never trust people again, to never let myself care about others. But that didn’t work.”

“You met Andrea,” Carol supplied, “And then you found us.” Carol’s hand crawled up to Michonne’s shoulder. “Everyone thinks they can protect themselves by cutting off all communication, but no one can live that way. It’s why you’re writing our charter.”

“Yeah,” Michonne agreed softly, and though she was staring down at the table top, she couldn’t read a single word in front of her face with her eyes unfocused as they were, unseeing.

Mercifully changing the subject, Carol asked, “You know the sex, right?”

With a sigh, Michonne dug the knuckles of both hands into the small of her back and stretched until she felt her spine pop. Her rounded stomach bulged with the movement, momentarily pressing against the edge of the table. “Siddiq gave me the option of knowing, but I didn’t want to know.”

“So, no names picked out then?”

Of course, the first name to come to mind was Rick. And after that Carl. Andrea for a girl, or maybe Sasha. 

“No,” Michonne lied.

For once, Carol didn’t seem to pick up on that. “At least your pregnancy is easy going. I remember my pregnancies. The last trimester was always the hardest.”

“Pregnancies?” Michonne’s head swiveled towards Carol.

“Just two.” Carol’s mouth quirked, but it was not a smile. “Ed pushed me down the stairs around my sixth month.”

This time Michonne did not stop herself from holding her stomach. Inside, her stomach was in knots and she felt the baby roll around like a log. “This pregnancy is a lot like the one I had with Andre. No morning sickness. But I will say this baby is a lot more active than Andre ever was.”

Carol’s eyes sparkled and she opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

“What?”

For a moment, Carol hesitated, but then she forged on. “I was going to say that I remember when Lori was pregnant with Judith. She complained about the same thing. Judith kicked a lot, and that’s partially where Daryl got the nickname from.”

Michonne nearly opened her mouth to correct Carol, to tell her that Judith was not Rick’s, but then she didn’t. She didn’t know what came over her to feel that way, and frowned at herself.

"I know. It’s not the best nickname for a baby, but it’s Daryl,” Carol said like that explained everything and it did. Today Daryl was not lingering outside the house, but instead was on another hunting trip. He had a dog now, some mangy thing he found about three days ago. All he had to do was feed it once and now it followed him everywhere. Daryl complained about it, but they could all tell that he was happy for the company. After all, a dog didn’t ask for conversation.

Turning back to her papers, Michonne realized that she couldn’t put it off any longer. “By the time you come back next week, the charter should be finished.”

“You want me to talk to Ezekiel about setting up a meeting? All of us, right? Hilltop, Oceanside, Sanctuary…” Carol let the words trail off. The bridge had not been rebuilt yet. They would have to wait until it was winter.

“Everyone,” Michonne said with a surety she hadn’t felt in so long. When her eyes connected with Carol’s, more than words were understood and they nodded to each other. This time when Michonne felt a tightness in her belly, she knew it was from excitement, and the baby rolled in agreement.

* * *

 

 ~ _Seven Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

Precariously balancing the tray holding Negan’s breakfast sandwich on one hand, Michonne held the railing as she walked down the front steps of her house. Her stomach was large enough now that she had trouble seeing her toes unless she tipped forward a little. Still, Michonne was in a good mood today. The morning was crisp with that autumn chill, and the few trees that lined the streets were red as if they were on fire. Today was another day she expected a visit from Carol, and she was looking forward to the supply of pumpkins the Kingdom was going to bring. Maybe she would make a pie, if she could find the right ingredients to make a pie shell. She was sure there were a few golden graham crackers in the cabinets somewhere if she looked.

Her mind on other things, Michonne neglected to grab the railing as she took the steps down to Negan’s cell. Somehow, she lost her footing, one of the steps slick with ice that had yet to melt since it was still cast in shadow, and she took a tumble down the four short steps. The way she fell was on her back, and if she weren’t pregnant, she was sure she would’ve gotten back up and dusted herself off with no problem. But she was pregnant and she felt a horrible pain blossoming on her right side as if she was being pulled apart by the seams. Absently, through the pain, she noted that Negan’s sandwich was unsalvageable before she realized that since it was so early, no one would come looking for her yet. Judith wasn’t even out of bed either.

Allowing herself a sharp cry of her pain, Michonne pushed herself to her feet, unsteady. Her head was swimming and muzzy, and when she put a hand to her forehead, her palm came away sticky with blood. At the sight, Michonne moaned, the sound shaking through the air like a rattle, and the more she stared at her bloody hand, the more her mind conjured up images of Rick’s hand saturated in blood, too. There was the time he killed that man at the Hilltop. There was the time at the heaps where he had stabbed his palm into an iron spike and came away with as good a hole as Jesus did from his cross. There was the time he was on the bridge and he was waving them off, insistent, waving goodbye –

Another stabbing pain in her side made Michonne scream and she desperately tried to pull herself up the stairs. Behind her, she heard rattling as if Negan was shaking the bars on the window and he was shouting at her, but his voice was muffled – or maybe it was her, maybe her ears weren’t working. All she could hear was her own crying, ringing through the chilly air. She was saying something. What was she saying?

"Oh, God, please, no. My baby, my baby, Rick, my baby.”

* * *

 

She did not remember what happened next, but she did remember waking up in the infirmary with Siddiq already hovering nearby, an angel in the wings. Michonne made him repeat it three times before the words finally got through to her. The fall had been hard enough to make her go into an early labor.

What struck Michonne was that Siddiq was careful enough to say that it was not a miscarriage. Her baby had been a stillborn because she was born too early. Her lungs weren’t finished developing yet.

Her.

It was a girl. Thirty-one weeks, to Siddiq’s estimate, and three-and-a-half pounds and sixteen inches. Siddiq promised that she had been beautiful.

* * *

 

~ _Eight Months After_ ~ 

* * *

 

Michonne started talking to Rick again. She didn’t see him – she never had to hallucinate Mike since his corpse shambled alongside her everyday at the time – but she talked to him all the same. Often times, she caught herself having entire conversations with him, all of them one sided. Since the incident, she had yet to leave the house, so she milled around aimlessly and talked to Rick about whatever came to mind.

Most of the time Judith was not there. It had been hard to explain to her that the baby growing in her tummy was in Heaven now, too, but what had been harder had been answering her questions as to why Michonne was talking to no one. For the majority of the day, now, Judith was at Aaron’s house where she would play with Gracie. It was something she had been doing before once Michonne told her about the baby; playing with Gracie was supposed to be practice for being a big sister. But now all she had to content herself with was to continue to play with Gracie. Michonne was sure Aaron appreciated the help, though, considering how he was still adjusting to only having one functioning arm.

So Michonne puttered around the house by herself, talking to Rick. She was achingly lonely, and had nothing else to do. Her charter had been finished and put into effect weeks ago, and so far, it had been going well between all of the communities. Negan was once again getting his feedings from Scott and Nora. Daryl had gone to stay at the Hilltop until this winter could blow over. Carol still made her visits, but she never stayed long now. Michonne was once again truly alone, and she was struggling to find something to live for.

"What should I have for lunch today, Rick?” Taking a knife, Michonne expertly flayed the flesh from the last pumpkin from the Kingdom. “I’m thinking roasted pumpkin seeds. Just a few. I’m saving a few to plant.”

While she carved up the pumpkin, Michonne tried to not let her mind wander too far. Her katana was hanging on the wall where it always was these days, and its siren’s call was getting harder and harder to resist. But Michonne was afraid to go out there, afraid because she didn’t want to abandon Judith, but also afraid because she knew it would be so easy to lose herself and wander right alongside the dead when she felt so empty and rotten inside.

The pumpkin was soft with rot beneath her rough sawing, and Michonne got careless. It snapped underneath her palms, and the knife slipped over her skin. Her heart line split open neatly and started to ooze bright red from her sluggish veins. Michonne’s reaction was delayed as at first, she just stared, letting it drip down her wrist.

Once the first drop splattered ruby red over the dull orange flesh of the pumpkin, Michonne moved, her other hand dropping the knife into the sink while she instinctively went to grab her hand to stop the bleeding. The pumpkin juices stung when mixed with her blood, and she hissed in discomfort as she moved over to the sink. After she washed the wound with antibacterial soap, Michonne let the water run over her palm, washing the blood away though it kept coming.

As she stared, Michonne distantly noted that the contrast of color was like one of Judith’s finger-paintings. Judith loved warm colors like red and yellow, and when Rick had taught her that they mixed to make orange, Judith had her very own Orange Period. Painting after painting, Judith imitated the sunsets and once woke up in time for a sunrise. She painted fruit bowls of oranges and apples and peaches. She painted bouquets of daisies and roses and sunflowers. So many paintings that she gave away to every Alexandrian and family friends like Uncle Aaron, Aunt Maggie, Aunt Carol, Uncle Daryl. They were all beautiful, but Michonne like the cool colors. Purple plums, green tea, blue eyes –

Sharply, Michonne shut off the faucet and she realized she was breathing heavily. She turned away. Without her intention, Michonne’s feet carried her to where her katana was gathering dust on the wall. She was out the door and out of Alexandria before she realized what she was doing. No one had stopped her. Maybe they better than to stop her, or maybe she had just walked out unnoticed.

Holding her katana by the hilt with both hands, she confidently strode through the woods, not caring about how much noise she was making. Michonne wanted to be heard. Soon she heard the distinctive growls and shuffling gait of walkers. Stopping, she looked around her for the source of the noise. “Come on!” she called out. In her chest, her heart was heaving and breaking, but it was also so angry, so heavy. She wanted to rip it out.

Walkers, gender and race unrecognizable due to the advanced state of their decay, shambled towards her with arms outstretched (missing fingers) and mouths open and moaning. There were five of them. Her katana sliced off the arms first only up to the wrist, and then later up to the elbows and then with another pass through, up to the shoulders. She led them in a circle, baiting them, before she shoved her blade through their midsections and chest, and then finally decapitated them for the killing blow. Their mouths kept moving robotically with their pointless desire to feed. Michonne’s muscles quivered from the brief excursion, but she was not yet satisfied. Flicking the blood and slime off her katana blade, Michonne kept moving.

It was nearly nightfall when Michonne’s knees started to buckle with exhaustion. Two walkers, one completely lacking its eyeballs, limped towards her with terrible snarls. Wearily, Michonne held her blade in the air and quickly dispatched them once they were within arm’s reach. When their bodies dropped, so did Michonne’s right next to theirs among the scattered leaves.

Quietly, she cried to herself and when she sobbed too loud, she clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle the noise, aware of the need to be silent now as the light left the world. She pulled her injured hand away from her face to examine the cut, and her palm was stained scarlet. Michonne shook her head at her own recklessness, but the more she stared at her bloody palm, the more she pictured how often she had tended to Rick’s injured hands over the years.

The Claimers. Pete Anderson. Ethan from the Hilltop. Winslow.

Michonne always remembered the names. Each time.

“Michonne.”

Immediately, she sat up on her knees, her eyes scanning the dark for the origin of the voice.

“Michonne. Go home.”

Her eyes slipped shut and Michonne shook her head. “No, no, I can’t, Rick.” Soft tears cascaded down her cheeks. “It’s not home without you.”

Gently, the wind curled against her face, strangely warm despite the nip in the air. “Go home.”

“No. I can’t go back. I want to go back, but I can’t.” Michonne’s head dropped when the wind stopped blowing. “There were so many things we had planned together,” she mourned, “and now…” She bit her bottom lip and trailed off, all the apologies stoppered in her throat like a cheap cork in the neck of a wine bottle.

A very real and very lifelike hand on her cheek forced Michonne to open her eyes. It was Rick, exactly how she remembered him. There was the faint scar across the bridge of his noble nose, and the scar under one of his eyes. His eyes were that same kind and brilliant blue. And when she brushed her bloody fingertips over his white beard, it was rough to the touch, but left entirely unstained. Michonne knew better than to question if it was real, because she knew it wasn’t. But it was good enough.

“Do you remember what I told you before?” Rick tilted his head in that familiar gesture, his eyes searching her face. “I told you that we’re gonna lose people, maybe a lot of them, maybe even each other.”

“No,” Michonne whispered, and she shook her head but Rick’s clean hands came up to grasp her face on either side, limiting the movement. “No.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Rick promised. “And I told you that what we did, we were doing for Judith and for Hershel. Fighting the fight, that’s living. You showed me that,” Rick reminded her. “You can lose me.”

“No.”

“You have lost me.”

“Please.”

“Michonne, you’re going to lose more of our friends, people we love, and it’s okay.” He nodded, and Michonne was surprised that his voice didn’t crack and that he was crying just like her. “It’s not just about us anymore. It’s about a future.”

“But I lost our future,” Michonne brokenly confessed, and shamed flooded her entire being and radiated outward in raw, mercilessly pain.

Rick kissed her forehead and that said so much more than anything he could say. Something like that, the pain can’t be assuaged so easily. It’s a wound that takes time. Pulling his lips and hands away, Rick looked her steadily in the eye. “I want you to remember one more thing I told you. I want you to remember that since I’m the one who didn’t make it, you’re the one who’s gonna have to lead the others forwards – because you’re the one who can. Do remember why?”

Michonne closed her eyes again and nodded. The tears had finally stopped. “Because I’m the one who showed you how. I led you here.”

And when Michonne opened her eyes, she was alone again.

* * *

 

 ~ _Six Years After_ ~ 

* * *

 

It was that time again when Michonne felt like getting away. She left Alexandria by herself, her heart leading her to that same familiar clearing where she spoke to Rick so long ago. Michonne had made him a grave out there, not quite a shrine or an altar, but something she could go and talk to you when she needed it. It wasn’t a shameful thing; before, she used to catch Rick speaking softly to Carl’s grave. But she had it put out here because it was special to her and she was selfish enough to not want to share it at Alexandria.

Once she reached the makeshift gravestone – which was a carved base of a tree – Michonne kneeled and slowly started to speak her mind freely, unburdening herself.

“I’m still here, too…maybe you already knew that, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. The sun keeps rising. The days keep passing. World keeps spinning. Time…just keeps moving forward. Weeks, months, even years go by while you try to make sense of it all. Try to find where you belong, try to look ahead to a better future, but the truth is…the path ahead has only grown darker, harder to see.

“You can feel so lost, so alone, so desperate for something, anything that might show you the way. But even now after all this time, surrounded by darkness, there are still flashes of light. Tiny beacons that shine out, calling to us. It’s not enough to light the way ahead, but it’s enough to keep going. Keep trying. Keep fighting. Keep training.

“So that’s what I do every second of everyday for you, for us. I haven’t given up, and I never will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah they heavily hinted at that Richonne baby but I haven't seen it, so here's my best guess.


End file.
